The Pieces Fall
by echelonskerp
Summary: There were three shots that night. And one of them was at the hand of Marceline Abadeer. A real world AU.


**Oops I was supposed to be working on my multi-chapter story, but here we are. I've really been wanting to write this, and though it's heartbreaking, it was really fun to write. Also, relative cliffhangers are fun, especially if they allow an opening for possible future chapters. Enjoy it. Or cry? Both maybe?**

 **Notes: 1) Daniel is the variation of an Adventure Time character described in Marcy's Super Secret Scrapbook, which is the other half of the Enchiridion. Daniel and Marceline were good friends before he was viciously murdered by the vampires. 2) If you're wondering about "Infinity and Beyond", it actually has a great significance to me. If you want to know about it, feel free to PM me :)**

* * *

"So, how did you like your first Infinity and Beyond concert? Ready to admit you're so in love with them? I mean the look on your face the whole time was _priceless_ , saying, _'I'm totally in love with them'."_

"Not even! You're drunk."

"Are you kidding? I barely had _one_ drink, Marce."

"Coulda fooled me. Are you even walking in a straight line?"

"That's irrelevant, I can't do anything straight."

Marceline burst into laughter, amused beyond measure, despite the fact that she'd both heard and said a million different variations of that joke. Perhaps she was just high on love. Honeymoon stage? As if. She'd been dating the redhead for three years now. There was never a day that she didn't feel her blood spiking with electricity, feeling like her life was a constant surprise party with glitter and confetti exploding, raining down on her from the ceiling. And no, that wasn't because of the alcohol she often had accompanying her on late nights and blissful weekends.

The two were moseying down the alleyway leading to their car, laughing about meaningless things. Bonnie had sworn that it would be a nice stroll in the chill after the concert, explaining something scientific about psychological resting before heading back home. Marceline mostly agreed because the parking lot was going to be absolutely packed with people trying to leave, with external traffic trapping everyone in as the cherry on top. She knew from experiences at her own gigs.

"The stars are pretty tonight," Bonnie breathed and snaked an arm around Marcy's waist, leaning into her slightly as they moved like drunk snails to whatever forgotten direction they'd left the car.

" _You're_ pretty tonight."

And she was, with how she decorated her slim figure for the event. She wore a sparkly pink dress, skintight, and stunning heels that made her taller. She still wasn't as tall as Marcy, who thought the girl didn't need either of those things to be anything near stunning.

"I'm pretty _every_ night," Bonnibel laughed. The ink-haired girl smiled in agreement, responding with a hum. "But, I guess you're pretty too or whatever." Bonnie flashed a matching smile.

Marceline wondered if the redhead would ever know how beautiful that smile was. She could never forget even an inch of it, because she loved it so much. She too often found herself melting at the sight of it. It was unlike anything she'd ever loved in her entire life of disappointments and loose ends never tied up, fragile and laced with dissatisfactions.

"Bon?"

"Mhm?"

The grip on her waist tightened lovingly.

"You're like, the realest, and most fulfilling thing in my life. You're my best friend, and you drive me frickin' nuts."

"Whaaaat? I thought that was your bass." Bonnibel feigned shock, but betrayed her act with a smirk. Marceline loved that one too, but in a very different way. It was beautiful as well, but more breathtaking and enrapturing than pretty.

"You're insane," she giggled like a teenager in love. Though, she wasn't much older. They were both in their early twenties, Marcy being about a year older. "I'm not in love with my bass."

The shorter of the two looked the other in the eye with such raw _emotion_ , unlike anything the old hags looking only for pleasure could ever swear to have. Her eyes shone like the best depiction of the heavens, like baby suns dancing, bringing illumination to even the darkest corners of the night sky.

"You know, Bon, you're right. The stars are pretty tonight." She cracked a toothy grin.

"Like you would know, you big faker. You're not even looking at them."

"Oh, I'm looking at them all right." She swiftly placed a playful kiss on the redhead's nose before there could be any protest. Bonnie snorted but, again, smiled nevertheless, contorting her galaxy of freckles in such a way that painted miniature collections of mingling constellations across her face.

After some moments of comfortable silence, Bonnibel looked about in curiosity.

"Hey, M? Have you noticed that we left the alleyway a long time ago? I think we passed the car a while ago."

"Hmm, let's just circle back until-" The sound of shattering glass and shouts turned both of their attentions to a group of men just a ways beyond them. "Yup, we're definitely leaving, come on."

Marcy turned them back in the direction they'd come, holding on a little tighter. Just then, another shout sounded, frighteningly nearer than just a few seconds before.

"Hey!" someone yelled.

"I hate drunks," Marceline muttered, or rather growled, walking a little faster.

And she did. She grew up being raised by a single dad who was ever struggling from the loss of her mother. Her mom died during childbirth, and despite never meeting her, Marcy felt responsible for the pain her father was always experiencing. But as she grew older, she realized that that was not even _near_ an acceptable excuse for her father to treat her as he did. He was entirely neglectful, sometimes abusive. On the weekdays he was either working or sleeping, and on the weekends he was anywhere that would have him, as long as he could have a beer in his hand. Sometimes he liked to change things up, opting for whiskey or vodka, anything to drown out the last bits of humanity within him. When he was gone enough, he took everything out on his daughter, despite not even remembering _why_ he needed to get lost in alcohol. Truthfully, he had an addiction. The minute Marcy was old enough to decide she was finished with his crap, she was gone. She was hardly a teen yet, but she left. When she was found and returned, more times than she kept track of, the courts deemed old Mr. Abadeer unfit for parenting.

Marceline was thrown into countless foster homes as a teen, before finally, one man was willing to care for her permanently. He was middle-aged and lived alone, but had a steady income and soft spot for abandoned kids. She came to know him as "Uncle Simon", and she loved him more than her actual father. Many a night she stayed up wondering, what could he have been through to suddenly have the life-goal of saving people like her? After a few years of studying him and his habits, before she went off to a college specialized for the arts, she decided that he must have been abandoned, too. Not by his parents, per se, but by someone who could have hurt him more recently. Simon refused to talk about it, but his adoptive daughter was smart enough to suspect a lost lover, or otherwise a companion who left him to live out his days in solitude. Whether it was by choice or literal removal from the earth, she couldn't say. She used to pity him, but eventually realized that both of their losses were the very things that brought them together.

It was Simon who made it so that she went to college. She met friends, and friends of friends, which was how she was introduced to Bonnibel. How she won over the genius, a science major, she couldn't say either. But however close to a miracle, she was so very grateful. To have the girl beside her at the very moment was, in itself, something to be grateful for.

"I said hey!" The drunk, who apparently wasn't too wasted just yet, had caught up to them. "What'er you two fine lookin' ladies doing wanderin' round these parts at night? Lookin' for a good time?" He pulled a few bills out of his pants pocket. Neither of the girls even bothered to look at them.

"Look, _bud_ ," said the taller girl protectively. "We're not interested. Come on, Bonnie."

The man's eyes wandered over their departing forms, before squinting at the notice of the intimacy of touch.

"Why is that?" he called. "Y'all a pair'a queers?"

Rage finally filled Marcy, turning her attention back to him.

"And if we are? You got something against gays?"

"Marceline, let's just go." Bonnibel tugged at her.

"So you are." He smirked. "Don't worry, I can turn fags."

There was a moment of silence where neither of the girls knew how to respond, until the fuse on the Marcy dynamite was about an inch from causing an explosion. "What did you just say? You homophobic piece of-!"

"She said we're not interested," Bonnie cut in. She pulled the taller girl along, trying to evade the situation as quickly as possible. The man continued to follow.

"Why don't you let 'er speak for herself, huh?"

"I oughta-" Marceline spun around, ready to land a punch straight between the man's eyes, when the shine of metal caught her eye. But it was too late. A single gunshot rang out a millisecond before her knuckles made hard contact with his face. He was knocked to the floor. The gun fell from his hand, firing another shot into nowhere before skidding away from him.

A scream pierced the air.

" _Bonnie!_ "

Bonnibel was on the ground as well, staring into the sky with confusion as her hand found a continuously dampening spot near her torso. Recognition dawned on her as she choked back a sob.

Marceline fell to her knees, leaning over the fallen girl. "Bonnie, no no no no no no, you're fine, babe. You're fine." She whipped her phone out and dialed 911 immediately, not entirely believing herself.

"Hello? My girlfriend was just shot. _Yes_ she's still breathing! What's wrong with you? I NEED AN AMBULANCE! Thank you, geez."

"Marcy…" Bonnibel groaned, one hand covered in blood, clutching at her side, and the other wrapped in Marcy's.

"Shh, you're going to be fine. An ambulance is on the way."

The man was struggling upward, reaching over to be reunited with his weapon. "Damn fag-"

She didn't know why she did it. Maybe it was the minuscule remnants of alcohol from the show. Maybe she was driven absolutely crazy from being in love, so in love that she couldn't help but act insane. Without a single thought, she'd grabbed the gun from the ground, pointed it straight at the drunk who hadn't even the time to fully raise his hands up in surrender, and she fired.

There were three shots that night. And one of them was at the hand of Marceline Abadeer.

* * *

Marceline was never one for waiting. If something needed to get done, she got it done. But as she sat nervously, dreadfully, in the waiting room, she had zero ability to do _anything_ about the growing pit in her stomach. With each second that ticked away, so was another piece of her soul- and her patience. She'd already been there for what felt like years. She shifted in the stiff chair, continuously sinking lower in agony, waiting to be called into the hospital room. Praying that what she found wasn't the end.

"Marce?"

She shifted at the disturbance and turned toward the hospital's entrance, where the voice had come. It was a college friend of hers, Daniel. In tow was his sister Lady. They were twin blondies with striking blue eyes, icier than the tundra. Daniel shared the same college as Marceline, while Lady went to the same college as Bonnibel. She'd been the one to introduce the two during Bonnie's freshman year, Marceline's sophomore year.

Daniel and his sister rushed to surround her with comfort and questions.

"What the hell happened?" he asked.

"A drunk with a gun," she growled, subconsciously baring her canines like a rabid dog. "Damn it! It should've been me."

"Hey, don't say that," Lady commanded softly.

Marcy slumped over, head in her hands. She wouldn't weep. She swore she wouldn't. But what else was there to do?

"Marce, look at me." Daniel shook her shoulder gently. "I'm sure she'll be fine. She's strong. And judging by the level of urgency in your voice over the phone, the wound wasn't immediately fatal. So she's got a chance. Give her one before you stress yourself to death."

"She'll need you after the surgery," his sister noted.

"Yeah, yeah. You guys are right."

"As always," Lady added.

"I just love her, you know? I know we're so young but like, I feel like I'm already so complete. I don't want her die. I don't- I _can't_ lose her." She sniffed despite herself, growing angry at the tears of betrayal stinging at her eyes.

"Ms. Abadeer?"

Marceline's head shot up like a hopeful shooting star, darting across the sky. A heavy-set woman dressed in nurse attire was standing a few yards from her.

"The patient-" the nurse looked down at a heavily papered clipboard in her hands. "Miss Bonnibel S. has been out of surgery since about twelve AM, and is awake now." How long had she been sitting in this stupid waiting room? Marcy's gaze flickered up to a digital clock above the receptionist's desk. It read, _1:58 AM_. "Immediate family is welcome to go in now."

With so much as a glance at the twins, Marceline followed the nurse down a single hall, where she was left at a room labelled 113A. It was unnecessarily cold, and smelled overwhelmingly of whatever antibacterial products hospitals used.

"Bonnie?" It came out as a rasp, though she intended on a relieved whisper.

The girl's eyes fluttered open slowly, like butterflies fluttering their wings to take off. She looked pale, and though she was naturally a pale girl, there was an intense lack of color. She must have lost a lot of blood. Her hair was spread messily across the white-cased pillow, making its strawberry blonde color look almost orange.

"Marcy?"

"Yeah, it's me Bon." She was getting choked up again. Somehow, she knew that their time was extremely limited, like God was tapping her on the shoulder saying, " _This is your chance at goodbye."_

"Ughhh I feel like I got hit by a truck," the patient whispered, lacking the strength to converse at normal volume.

"More like by a drunk."

The bed-ridden girl held a weak hand outward, beckoning Marcy, who still stood in the doorway, to come to her. She did, clicking the door closed quietly, then going to sit on the adjustable bed. She placed a gentle kiss on trembling lips, and their hands intertwined naturally.

"Bonnie, I did something bad."

"I recall, hun."

"They're gonna figure it out any second now. They're gonna find my DNA on that gun. I know you're weak right now but… I love you, Bonnibel. Will you run away with me?"

"You watch too many movies." Her eyes fluttered closed again, tears streaming out from beneath the shut lids. "Let's run away together."

Something within Marcy already knew they'd never get the chance. It was as if the seconds on the clock were counting down for her. Ten.

"We can get married, and be stupid forever. Stupid and free." Marcy had promised herself not to cry, but weeping had never been so incredibly easy.

The seconds kept ticking by. Five.

"I love you, Marceline-"

The clock struck 2:00 AM. Zero.

The door burst open, multiple police officers storming in. How many did it take to make an arrest?

"-I loved you from the very first day."

* * *

The cell was small and cold, and where there should have been a bed was just a bench. Marceline sat there calmly, and no rage secretly boiled her blood. Admittedly, the situation was far from ideal, and that drunk man ruined her life. But just as she'd learned from her father, people drank for a reason, and in turn drinking was the reason they did crazy things. Maybe that man deserved to die at her hand, but she regretted it anyway. She was beginning to realize that there was no way out, or maybe she'd known from the beginning. There was no reason to lie, and Bonnibel was going to live the rest of her life alone. It bothered Marcy that because of her, Bonnie would be placed in a trying situation. She would be considered a witness, and they were going to pester her until she was forced to give up the remaining evidence needed to put Marcy away for good.

Her one phone call was to Simon. She told him exactly what happened, and why she was now in a holding cell downtown. She made sure to be frank, but also took the time to let him know how she loved him so.

A detective, Detective Mertens, came into the sheriff's office the next morning to question her. He was young, like her, and she immediately recognized that she knew him from high school. He was a yellow-blonde, tall, but not beyond average. He had a deep scar horizontally dividing one arm. Marcy wondered how he managed to get that.

"Marceline Abadeer," he carefully regarded. "You were quite the… _deal_ , back in high school." He squinted, perhaps unhappy with his word choice. She remembered him to be clever, but not in a book smart kind of way.

"Those were the days." She wasn't sure if that was sarcasm, or the mental pain talking.

Mertens tapped a pen against the desk as he sat atop it, avoiding mussing any orderly stacks of paper. He got straight to the point. "You killed a man. A public nuisance, but a man nonetheless."

"I know what I did. Bonnibel knows what I did, she'll tell you. Those science guys with my DNA know what I did. I already know I'm getting locked up."

"Hmm." He scratched his stubble of a beard with a glimmer in his eye. "We'll see about that. Tell me, Marceline, why'd you do it?" He watched her closely, making her squirm a bit uncomfortably.

She thought carefully before deciding on, "He deserved it."

"The tests show you were under the influence."

"Hardly. But that's one way to put the truth."

"And what is the truth, exactly?"

"Let me tell you something, detective. There is one motive stronger than anything in this world, stronger than regret, hate, jealousy, or a yearn for power." She shrugged as if the answer should be so obvious. "Love made me do it."

"So you're implying that you are mentally unstable, because of love?"

"I didn't say that. But take it however you want."

Just then, the sheriff, a lemon-headed freak who looked as if he had jaundice, came into the room.

"You're needed on a case, detective," he announced annoyingly, eyeing Marceline with a sneer.

Mertens headed to the door before turning to the girl in the cell. "This conversation isn't over. I can do more for you than you think, Abadeer." Without another word, he left her in solitude for the rest of the day.

That night, Marcy couldn't sleep. She stared out into the darkness, and all she saw was a girl. She whispered to her, "I would cross the line for you, _every_ time, Bonnie." She closed her eyes, and in her mind was the same girl. She opened her eyes again. Orbs like dancing suns stared at her from her memory. Freckles like constellations powdered pale skin, like mingling stars. Closing her eyes again brought her the sounds of gunshots. One, two, three of them. So she kept them open for the rest of the night. But the surrounding darkness only held the door open for her demons. They kept whispering to her in echoes, over and over again, repeating themselves until she was sure her ears were bleeding.

" _I loved you from the very first day."_

* * *

That night, Bonnibel lay awake in her hospital bed, not having been dispatched yet. Marcy's last words to her were still echoing in her brain. A single tear fell from her cerulean tinted eyes. Despite having been distracted the night before, by the bloody hole in her side that was housing a bullet, she remembered every disgustingly vivid detail. She remembered the muttering of the drunk. She remembered every word of the 911 call. Most of all, she recalled every single gunshot, especially the last, and not another word emitted from the man. She knew in the moment that it happened, she knew exactly _what_ had happened.

She opened her mouth to whisper into the darkness, alone and cold, "I never thought we'd end, darling. Not like this."

Bonnibel knew that Marceline loved her more than anything. But she also knew that nothing would ever be the same.


End file.
